We Two Part 47

And in a moment the Oakdene party had joined them, and Leslie saw that his chances for that day were over. Before long he had made his escape, leaving the grounds not moodily, but with the light of a new and eager determination in his eye.

Erica, returning from the flower show late in the afternoon, found a note awaiting her, and opened it unconcernedly enough on her way up to her room. But the first glance at it brought a glow of color to her face and a nameless fear to her heart. She ran on quickly, locked her door, and by the ruddy firelight read in a sort of dumb dismay her first offer of marriage. This then was the meaning of it all. This was the cause of his hurried return to England; this had brought her the long talks which had been so pleasant, yes, strangely, unaccountably pleasant. Yet, for all that, she knew well enough that she had nothing to give in return for the love revealed in every word of the letter. She liked him, liked to talk to him, thought him clever and interesting, but that was all.

His wife! Oh, no! Impossible! That could never be! And then, as usual, even in the midst of her strange sense of discomfort and perplexity, there came a flash of humor which made her laugh noiselessly in the dim light. "Tom would call me Mrs. Sly Bacon!"

But a second reading of the letter made her look grave. She was very much puzzled to know how to answer it; how, in refusing, to give him least pain. There was nothing else to hesitate about, of her own mind she was quite sure. There was only an hour till post time. She must write at once, and she must write in a way which could not be mistaken.

There was not a grain of coquetry about Erica. After some thought she wrote the following lines:

"Dear Mr. Cunningham, Your letter surprised me very much and pained me, too, because in replying I fear I must give you pain. I thank you for the honor you have done me, but I can never be your wife. Even if I could return your love, which I can not, it could never be right. People are so prejudiced that the connection of our names might greatly injure your public work, and, besides, you could not live in the circle in which I live, and nothing could ever make it right for me to leave my own people. I can not write as I should like to I can not say what I would, or thank you as I would but please understand me, and believe me yours very sincerely, Erica Raeburn."

Strange enough the writing of that letter, the realization of the impossibility of accepting Leslie Cunningham's offer, opened out to Erica a new region, started her upon a new stage of her life progress.

In spite of her trouble at the thought of the pain she must give, there was an indefinable sense that life and love meant much more than she had hitherto dreamed of; and, though for the next few days she was a little grave and silent, there rang in her ears the refrain:

"Oh, life, oh, beyond, Thou art strange, thou art sweet."

She was not sorry that her visit was drawing to a close, although the last week had gone much more smoothly. Her vigorous nature began to long to return to the working day world, and though she could very honestly thank Mr. Fane-Smith for his kindness, she turned her back on his house with unmixed satisfaction.

"And you cannot change your ind as to my suggestion?" he asked sending off one parting arrow.

"I can not," said Erica, firmly, "he is my father."

"You must of course make your own choice," he said with a sigh. "But you are sadly wrong, sadly wrong! In my opinion your father is--"

"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Erica, "but by your own showing you have no right to have any opinion whatever about my father. Until you have either learned to know him personally, heard him speak, or fairly and carefully studied his writings, you have no grounds to form an opinion upon."

"But the current opinion is--"

"The current opinion is no more an opinion than yours! It is the view of most bitter opponents. And, candidly, WOULD you accept the current opinion held of any prominent statesman by his adversaries? Why, the best men living are represented as fiends in human shape by their enemies! And if this is so in political matters, how much more in such a case as my father's!"

Mr. Fane-Smith, who was a well-meaning though narrow man, sighed again; it was always very painful to him to listen to views which did not coincide with his own.

"Well," he said at length, "there is, after all, the hope that you may convert him."

"I hope you do not want me to turn into one of those hateful little prigs, who go about lamenting over their unregenerate parents," said Erica, naughtily. Then, softening down, she added, "I think I know what you mean perhaps I was wrong to speak like that, only somehow, knowing what my father is, it does grate so to put it in that way. But don't think I would not give my life for him to come to the light here and now for I would! I would!"

She clasped her hands tightly together, and turned quickly away.

Mr. Fane-Smith was touched.

"Well, my dear," he said. "You may be right, after all, and I may be wrong. All my anxiety is only for your ultimate good."

The train was on the point of starting, he gave her a warm hand shake, and in spite of all that jarred in their respective natures, Erica ended by liking him the best of her new relations.

CHAPTER x.x.x. Slander Leaves a Slur

For slander lives upon succession, Forever housed, where it once gets possession. Comedy of Errors.

Not out of malice, but mere zeal, Because he was an infidel.

Hudibras

"Blessed old London, how delightful it is to come back to it!" exclaimed Erica, as she and Tom drove home from Paddington on the afternoon of her return from Greyshot. "Tell the man not to go through the back streets, there's a good boy! Ah, he's doing it of his own accord! Why, the park trees are much browner than the Mounts.h.i.+re ones!"

"We have been prophesying all manner of evil about your coming back,"

said Tom looking her over critically from head to foot. "I believe mother thought you would never come that the good Christians down at Greyshot having caught you would keep you, and even the chieftain was the least bit in the world uneasy."

"Nonsense," said Erica, laughing, "he knows better."

"But they did want to keep you?"

"Yes."

"How did you get out of it?"

"Said, 'Much obliged to you, but I'd rather not.' Enacted Mrs. Micawber, you know, 'I never will, no I never will leave Mr. Micawber.'"

"Mr. Fane-Smith must have been a brute ever to have proposed such a thing!"

"Oh, no! Not at all! Within certain limits he is a kind-hearted man, only he is one of those who believe in that hateful saying, 'Men without the knowledge of G.o.d are cattle.' And, believing that, would treat atheists as I should be sorry to treat Friskarina."

"And what is the world of Greyshot like?"

"It is very lukewarm about public questions, and very boiling hot about its own private affairs," said Erica. "But I have learned now how people in society can go on contentedly living their easy lives in the midst of such ignorance and misery. They never investigate, and when any painful instance is alluded to, they say, 'Oh! But it CAN'T be true!' The other day they were speaking of Kingsley's pamphlet, 'Cheap clothes and nasty,' and one lady said that was quite an evil of the past, that the difficulty nowadays was to get things at reasonable prices. When I told her that women only get twopence for doing all the machine work of an ulster, and have to provide their machine, cotton, food, light, and fuel, she exclaimed, 'Oh, that is incredible! It must be exaggerated!

Such things couldn't be now!' When Aunt Isabel heard that I had known cases of men being refused admission to a hospital supported by public subscriptions, on the ground of their atheism, she said it was impossible. And as to physical ill treatment, or, in fact, any injustice having ever been shown by Christian to atheist, she would not hear of it. It was always 'My dear, the atmosphere in which you have lived has distorted your vision,' or, 'You have been told, my dear, that these things were so!' To tell her that they were facts which could be verified was not the smallest good, for she wouldn't so much as touch any publication connected with secularism."

"None are so blind as those who will not see," said Tom. "They will go on in this way till some great national crisis, some crash which they can't ignore, wakes them up from their comfortable state. 'It can't be true,' is no doubt a capital narcotic."

"Father is at home, I suppose? How do you think he is?"

"Oh, very well, but fearfully busy. The 'Miracles' trial will probably come on in November."

Erica sighed. There was a silence. She looked out rather sadly at the familiar Oxford Street shops.

"You have not come back approving of the Blasphemy Laws, I hope?" said Tom, misinterpreting her sigh.

Her eyes flashed.

"Of course not!" she said, emphatically.

"Mr. Osmond has, as usual, been getting into hot water for speaking a word on the chieftain's behalf."

"Did he speak? I am glad of that," said Erica, brightening. "I expect Mr. Pogson's conduct will stir up a good many liberal Christians into showing their disapproval of bigotry and injustice. Ah! Here is the dear old square! The statue looks ten degrees moldier than when I left!"

In fact everything looked, as Erica expressed it, "moldier!"

"Persecution Alley," the lodging house, the very chairs and tables seemed to obtrude their shabbiness upon her. Not that she cared in the least; for, however shabby, it was home the home that she had longed for again and again in the luxury and ease of Greyshot.

Raeburn looked up from a huge law book as she opened the door of his study.

"Why, little son Eric!" he exclaimed. "You came so quietly that I never heard you. Glad to have you home again, my child! The room looks as if it needed you, doesn't it?"